It comes to me each time I ride the escalator at Macy's in Herald Square, but only between certain floors where the store's original wooden escalators remain. Wooden escalators are noisy, narrow and lacking in the sleek, smooth look and feel of today's modern people movers. But there is a certain elegance that grabs me on Macy's original chugging stairs and compels ponderings.
I think of the women of generations before me who have ridden these same escalators. Just 30 years ago, they would never have been seen in Macy's in blue jeans as I am. I can almost smell the "Evening in Paris" -- that blue bottle cologne that was a staple on every dresser. When they graced these escalators they had on suits, hats, pumps, hosiery and handkerchiefs tucked beneath their watchbands.When I ride those escalators, it is the grace of the Macy's woman that strikes me. Her worry was not child care, it was being certain she was home in time to put up her chicken. The pace of her life was not soccer games in between McDonald's runs. Her self-fulfillment was in found in a job well done, whether the job was liquid starch on collars, vinegar for windows, or manners in children.
My escalator rides bring to me the distinctions between life when house dresses were inappropriate for stepping beyond one's front sidewalk and today when women wear jogging suits to the ballet. The Macy's woman is superior in her confidence and work to today's hifalutin super mom.
Like the wooden escalators, things in her day were slower and a bit old-fashioned but with a stamp of quality and seal of hand-made authenticity. With little things, like purses that always matched their shoes, the Macy's women made for a gracious society. These days you can find a Macy's woman here and there, but she is a rare breed, and her influence is waning.
There is the lost art of RSVP. To the Macy's woman, an RSVP was like a subpoena; you were compelled to respond or risk shunning. Put RSVP on an invitation today and you'll get one of two responses: (1) "What is RSVP?" or (2) Nothing. The RSVP is a dinosaur.
For my oldest son's last birthday party, I included a self-addressed stamped postcard as an RSVP. All they had to do was check a box and mail back the card. Unable to walk these social lunkheads through the annals of invitation etiquette, I still had no idea on the day of the party how many boys would be descending. A Macy's woman would have been mortified.
There are the lost titles of "Mrs." and "Mr." Neighborhood 3-year-olds call me "Marianne." A 3-year-old should be on a first-name basis with cats, gerbils or Furby. Until I am covered with fur, real or otherwise, or become some sort of hot Christmas toy, I am "Mrs. Jennings" to all children under the age of 35. I believe bank tellers could take a lesson from this tirade as well.
Children today would have been called hooligans by the Macy's woman. As a child, my perception of the master bedroom in our home focused on that term "master." Children were not permitted in the master bedroom unless they were genetic offspring of the master and not currently carrying some form of active stomach flu.
I frequently find neighborhood urchins wandering around my house. They have not been taught by God-fearing parents the significance of master bedrooms or even masters.
Nike-clad third-graders send my blood pressure skyrocketing when I come upon them lying in wait in my closet. It staggers my imagination that they are there among my hosiery when my children are nowhere to be found. They are in my closet without invitation, RSVP or an accompanying household member. I envision the Macy's woman hauling the nomad child to the front door by the ear, a gentle punishment for trespassers who deserve banishment from social circles.
The Macy's woman found it rude to apply lipstick in public. Today employers provide pumping facilities for nursing employees. The Macy's woman was mortified if her slip was showing. No one wears slips underneath clothing today. They do, however, wear camisoles as blouses and skip all underwear. Madonna has conducted international tours in nothing but underwear.
A unisex toilet would have created a scandal in the era of the Macy's woman. Today potty parity is the goal. Casual Fridays dress at work wouldn't meet the Macy's woman's standards for gardening attire.
She was an elegant soul, this Macy's woman. She was a strong figure, respected in her strength, demanding in her standards. Flawless in her manners, committed to her family and gracious in her conduct. We women of today seem like sloppy teenagers next to these evolved souls. The irony is that we perceive ourselves as advanced. On the contrary, we are the wooden escalators. 'Twas the Macy's woman who was the sleek one.
Marianne M. Jennings is a professor of legal and ethical studies at Arizona State University. Her e-mail address is mmjdiary@aol.com